


Faithless

by Cancelling_The_Apocalypse



Category: Angel - Fandom, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse world, Multi, Supernatural AU - Freeform, season 12
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-12-31 19:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12139293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cancelling_The_Apocalypse/pseuds/Cancelling_The_Apocalypse
Summary: The barrier between universes has been ripped open, and on the other side is an apocalypse-devastated world where the Winchester brothers were never born. This is a world without Hunters…but rumor has it they’ve got something else instead: something called a Slayer.Contains spoilers through the S12 Finale of Supernatural, the Series Finale of Buffy The Vampire Slayer, and The Series Finale of Angel: The Series.





	1. Prelude: Sympathy For The Devil (Or Not)

_“I love you.” _Mary hears herself say the words, as she has so often before. In her mind, and aloud. She would do anything, everything, for her boys…and this is everything. The brass Enochian knuckles are cool against her flesh. Lucifer’s smile is white-hot, cruel, mocking -__

____

and she takes her first swing. _Crack. _Almost feels his skin break beneath her hand, and at the same time, her bones meet resistance akin to a concrete wall.__

______ _ _

_“That the best you got, Mom?”_

________ _ _ _ _

She’s had worse. She swings again. And again. She’s not getting out of this, she knows it - she just hopes the boys are running. Sam, and Dean. They’ll still have each other. That’ll be enough - 

________ _ _ _ _

Lucifer, this angel in a scuffed meat-suit, staggers. Is that…pain, on his face? She’s hurting the devil himself. And that realization stokes the Winchester fire in her again. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance. Right now, maybe is more than enough. Always has been. 

________ _ _ _ _

_CRACK. _Lucifer staggers. _CRACK. _Back, towards the shining rip in the air, the doorway to another dimension. If she can just get him through - _CRACK _. Mary barely feels her hands now. But they’re still working, so she swings again -______

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

And Lucifer begins to fall. She lets herself feel half-a-second of triumph, and that’s too long. His hand wraps around her wrist like a steel cage, and she falls too. Blind, into the light. Through the light. Dimly, behind her, she hears Sam shout for her - and then, a hand has her other wrist as well. _No, Sam, _she thinks but can’t get the breath to say, _Let go - _____

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

At the last moment before the light vanishes, the grip on her wrist falls away - 

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

WHAM. 

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She lands. The air tastes of dirt and electricity. She rolls to her back, and the sky above is less a sky, more a smoldering fire. 

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Somewhere beside her, she hears his voice. The Devil. Screaming, enraged. 

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She’s on her feet. Lucifer is between her and the rip. He looks at her, and his eyes burn red. 

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“You. You took me from my son! I’m going to kill you.”_

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Mary Winchester swallows hard. The Devil himself in front of her. The path home, to her boys, blocked. Nowhere to go but forward. 

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

She meets Lucifer’s coal-red eyes, and smiles.

________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. House of the Rising Son

Sam Winchester burns. 

For an instant, the light surrounding him is so bright, so intense, he thinks he’ll never get out of it. No horizon, no ground, no _Mom ___

__His mouth shapes the word. _Mom _. That’s why he’s here. Lucifer, dragging her through the portal. His desperate grasp on her flannel shirt, borrowed from Dean’s wardrobe - his fingers slipping -___ _

_____WHAM. ____ _ _ _

______The dirt is as burnt and acrid as the air. He looks up, squinting as the flash-blindness fades. He made it through the portal…but he’s alone. Dean’s behind, on the other side, and Mom? _Where’s Mom? _No sign of Lucifer either.___ _ _ _ _ _

________That’s not right. _They should be here. _____ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________His foot strikes something, harder than a stone - metal. Brass, to be exact. A brass knuckle…with Enochian carvings._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________From behind him, a sharp _FWOOOSH _like that of a fire being put out with a bucket of water. He looks back, just in time to see the Rip vanishing -___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“No! Dean!” He lunges, still on his knees -_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________And falls flat in the dirt again. The Rip is gone._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He grunts, pushing to his feet. Casting around._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Hunter training takes over now. Dean’s voice echoes in his head._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________You hurt? _Scrapes on his hands, probably his knees too. Everything else seems to be working.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________Who’s on the team, Sammy? _Me, myself, and I.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Weapons? _A Bowie knife, strapped to his belt. Dean’s silver-plated revolver, rescued from the grass after Lucifer’s attack, and tucked into the back of his jeans. He checks the clip, automatically. Two bullets.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Great._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________The Job? _Find Mom. And probably fight the Devil. Again.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________He takes the Enochian brass from the ground, slips it onto his hand._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________“Perfect.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___

This time, he’s ready for her. This bitch that dared to separate him from his own flesh and blood. 

She swings. He dodges her fist, and sees the brass Enochian knuckles pass by, still splattered with his blood. The sight only stokes his rage. He hits her. Hard. She staggers back, but doesn’t fall. 

“You Winchesters. Never did know quite when to give up.”

He advances on Mary, who backs slowly away, keeping her fists raised. 

“It was almost attractive when little Sammy did it, you know? It’d been so long since anyone’d given me a good fight. But now? This is just tedious.” 

Mary - incredibly - advances on him. “Keep my son’s name out of your mouth, motherfucker.” She slams him in the gut, and he’s too surprised to stop her. Still, the brass burns less now. 

“That’s the way it’s gotta be, Mom? Fine.” Lucifer leers at her. Her next punch is tired, just a bit too slow - and he catches her wrist, bending it back until the woman gasps for breath, dropping to her knees. 

At last, her fist comes unclenched. Lucifer slides the brass rings from her fingers, and kicks her to the dirt. 

“Did you know I had a nickname back in the day, Mom? I got it because I could just snap my fingers…and end entire cities.”

Here he raises his hand, brushing the thumb, middle, and index together -

“When I did, everything would just disappear in this beautiful, bright cloud. Brighter than the brightest sunrise or starshine. That’s why they called me the Morningstar.” 

Instead of snapping his fingers, Lucifer slides the brass knuckles over them. 

“But Mary, your end won’t be bright. I don’t want it to be. It’s gonna be dark. It’s gonna be messy. And oh, boy, am I going to enjoy it.”


	3. Sharp-Dressed Man

For the first time, she’s really afraid. Mary braces herself in the dirt, mind scrambling for any semblance of a plan. A weapon stronger than the brass, an escape, anything - 

It doesn’t come. The Devil grins at her from above, eyes flaming red. Raises his fist. Advances on her - and suddenly stops dead. As though he’d hit a wall…or the confines of a Devil’s Trap. But a Devil’s Trap isn’t strong enough for him…

Lucifer stares at her. Enraged. Suddenly, he shouts in - pain? - as his hand begins to glow. Fiery. His fist opens, and the Enochian knuckles drop to the dirt.

“What did you do now, you sniveling bitch?!” 

She doesn’t know, but she’s not stupid enough to miss the opportunity. Mary vaults to her feet, clasping her one remaining brass knuckle, and raises her fist - 

“I wouldn’t if I were you, love.” The voice comes from off to the side, and Mary and the Devil both whirl to see the speaker. 

It’s a slight man with dark hair and a scuffed leather jacket. English accent. 

“Who the hell are you?” Mary doesn’t lower her fists. 

“That trap will only hold your demon friend for so long. Time for all those introductory niceties later, no?” 

Lucifer snarls, bashing at the trap with both fists. The air flashes where he strikes it. 

Mary stares at him. The man sighs.

“Look, I don’t fancy having my skin flayed off when that enchantment breaks. And it will. Your pal’s powerful. I can help keep you safe. You coming, or not?” 

“I don’t need your help to stay safe.” Nonetheless, Mary crosses the dirt towards him. 

“You’re dead! Both of you!” Lucifer’s howl echoes, strong as the winds. 

“Not if we move fast, we aren’t.” The Englishman walks away, the urgency in his step belying the calm tone he speaks with. Mary follows. 

“At least tell me your name!” toward his retreating back. 

“We haven’t got time for - ” tossed back over his shoulder. 

Mary stops, planting her feet. “I’m not moving until I know who I’m escaping with. You want to keep the skin on your bones? Tell me who you are.”

The man pauses. Smiles, almost woefully. “Who I am. Now that’s a good question that requires a longer answer. The name, though, that I can do. Everyone left round here…they call me Doyle.” 

\---

The winds are picking up. The sky, already sooty and grim, is growing even darker. Sam checks the magazine of Dean’s gun again, tucks it away. In the dim light, he searches the ground around him. Parts of the dirt are…scorched? That can’t be right. But it is. The sand is glassed. He follows the shape, until it becomes…

“A Devil’s Trap.” Sam crouches down, touches the smooth symbols etched into the ground, following them until he reaches…a shattered outer circle. Splinters of glass litter the ground. This thing must’ve caught Lucifer. Maybe long enough for Mom to get away. But who put it here? And who let him out? 

The only answer he gets is a loud peal of thunder from over the horizon. Time to move. Find whatever passes for shelter in this new world, and go from there. 

Almost unconsciously, the path he chooses is the one that takes him around the closest small hillock…to where the body in the black suit lies. 

“Goodbye, boys.” Crowley smiles. Raises the angel blade…and plunges it into his own gut. 

Their plan had almost worked. Almost. Sam sighs. If they had a dollar for every time a Winchester play had “almost” gone according to plan, he and Dean wouldn’t still be running credit card scams to buy groceries. 

Sam crouches down and brushes a bit of the grey dust off of Crowley’s dark suit. He’s gone, the body a burned husk, but he’d always kept his suits immaculate - and Sam feels like he deserves that courtesy for just a bit longer. 

That, and he needs the angel blade next to the body anyway. 

Sam tries to tuck the blade up his sleeve, the way Cas does - did - it. He only succeeds in almost slicing his own thumb off, and slides the weapon into his jacket instead. 

He’d always meant to ask Cas how he managed that. 

Cas, stepping out of the rip with his fists bloodied and a look of triumph on his face - 

a look that was suddenly replaced by one of surprise, then pain, then…no expression at all, just blinding, blue-white light as his grace left his body courtesy of Lucifer’s blade. 

It’s almost impossible to think about a world without Cas in it. So for now, he doesn’t. That’s how it’s been for awhile now, how he’s coped with loss after loss. 

Dean does it with shot after shot taken, mile after mile driven, monster after monster killed. 

Sam just tries not to think about it too hard, to shut down the voices and the faces with words from his research books. Sometimes, it even works. This time, there’s no research to remember. A few hours ago, they hadn’t even known this place existed. 

For now, he focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, like the warlock in that old christmas cartoon sang. It’s a bizarre memory to have, here in this broken new world. 

Still, it brings him some small comfort to remember how he used to watch those worn VHS tapes, sitting in front of the tiny TV, while Dean teased him from the kitchen and practiced loading his gun. 

One foot in front of the other.

Just put one foot in front of the other.


End file.
